Confessions of a West High Drama Queen
by sapereaude13
Summary: Hi, this is OC Dee breaking the 4th wall and encouraging you to read about my weeks with Troy Bolton. Um, I mean my weeks preparing for the state drama competition. Did I say that out loud! Where's the delete key when you need it? Troy/Gabriella and OCs
1. Levi's to Beaver

_**Note from Dee**: Here's just a disclaimer, okay? I, Deirdre Renee Andrews, do solemnly swear that this story is the unedited, unaltered truth. _

_For those of you who like the big picture, this recounts my experiences at the state drama competition with my new acquaintances from East High this past fall. _

_And for those of you who read stuff based on who's making out with who, here's the pairings to expect: Troy/Gabriella, OC → Troy, another OC → Ryan, and um...that first OC (yeah, me)/Jason. I think. I still don't know what that was all about. Anyhow, that's my disclaimer and I'm sticking to it._

--

**Confessions of a West High Drama Queen**

Chapter One – Levi's to Beaver

The Albuquerque school district, at least according to United States Department of Education statistics, spends the same amount of money per student in grades nine through twelve. About $6,600 for each butt in an Albuquerque school district chair. So technically, all Albuquerque high schoolers are equal. But I'd just like to point out that some are more equal than others.

Some high schools in our district are average. I'd say that mine, West High, falls into this category. We're not exactly Degrassi with all the teen pregnancies and drug experimentation and all that, but we're not a bunch of Ivy League-bound robots either. So the $6,600 a year for each of my classmates is decently spent. Nobody's died from the cafeteria food, the buses run on time, and we don't have a giant mound of dirt in the middle of our soccer field like they've got at South from some expanded wing building project gone awry.

No, West High's not so bad. It's just that it's hard to see how the district is spending $6,600 on me and $6,600 on kids at that other school. You know the one I mean. As I sit in their community college-sized gymnasium on their impeccably well-manicured grounds with its Lexus-filled parking lot, I have to wonder. What makes East High worthy of half a dozen more AP classes? Why do the halls smell of excellence and success rather than West High's usual Lysol scent?

I try to cheer on my team, but of course, my shouts are drowned out by the legion of East High faithful in the stands around me. Frankly, I'm not sure why I'm here today. I can't remember the last time I attended a West High game on our own campus, in the gym with the leaking roof. But then I see the painted face of the guy sitting next to me, and I remember.

Javier gives me a thumbs up, encouraging me to cheer louder. "Come on, Dee! They can't use your spirit if you don't let them hear it!"

I'm pretty convinced that my best friend is suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress. Maybe it was the lack of sub sandwiches by the time our lunch period rolled around earlier that day. But where normal people under stress get sad or emo, Javier gets this urge to behave in increasingly out of character ways. Today, he decided that after school it was our "civic duty" to attend the East vs. West preseason opener.

Let me first tell you that I don't lack school spirit, per se. I'm usually quite happy to attend the occasional sporting event at West High. Did you know that the Lady Knights volleyball team went to state sectionals last year? Yeah. And my brother Luke is the captain of the track team, so just because I wasn't blessed with athletic gifts doesn't make me hate sports. But sports are just...different when West is playing East.

It's just not worth the effort. I mean, who really fixes the district schedules? I'm pretty convinced that someone at the board owes the Principal at East a huge favor, because it seems like we are always playing East in basketball. There are other directionally-named high schools in this district – why do we always have to come and lose to these guys?

Everyone at West High knows that basketball season isn't something to get hyped up about. The fact of the matter is that we will lose. Same with baseball, same with scholastic decathlon, and the same with chess club. Chess club! I don't know what's in the water or the cafeteria food here at East, but it seems to have some nutrient or steroid in it that we mere mortals at West, South, North etc don't appear to be welcome to try.

I watch Steve, our point guard, desperately trying to find someone to pass to, but the ball's stolen by East. The crowd cheers, the parents snap photos, and I sink further into my hoodie. I almost feel like a spy in a foreign land whenever I'm at East. Or better yet, a refugee from a third world country. The Wildcats have those tearaway pants, so they pop up from the bench like a pinball in a game machine. I think the Knights still wear the sweatpants from last year's pancake breakfast fundraiser.

Is it the parents? Are they just wealthier on this side of town? I guess that's probably it. There are more BMW's per capita in this part of Albuquerque than any other, and Javier's junky Toyota Tercel is parked between a pair of Range Rovers in the parking lot right now. I fully expect it to be towed away by the East High parking police before the game's up, leaving me and my friend stranded in a place we don't belong.

Javier is still trying to cheer our guys on, but I think he's just a masochist. And it doesn't hurt that he's really got the hots for Gabe, the gangly center. Javier and I are never going to see eye to eye on what is aesthetically pleasing in the male species. I cross my arms, frowning at the paint on his face.

"What's that even supposed to be?" I shout, pointing to my cheek to ask about the blob he drew on his face in the parking lot before the game started.

"It's a knight," he snits at me. "I actually take some pride in our team."

I roll my eyes. "We're getting destroyed!" I gesture to the scoreboard – how many $6,600 per student did that sucker cost? West was currently being East High's prison girlfriend. Preseason didn't count, but being down 43-19 before halftime was unforgivable. I felt bad for Coach Hogan. The eighth coach in as many years at West, the man was already wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. I couldn't wait to hear the announcement over the P.A. the next morning at school - "West High bends over and takes it from the Wildcats! Again!"

Javier is undeterred by my sulking. "We always lose to these guys, but they still need our support!"

"Then let's support our team when we play North High. They suck. We at least win there."

He punches my arm. "Fine." His feigned enthusiasm dies down, and he returns to the Javier I know. "Let's make some trouble."

"I'm not getting expelled."

"We won't get expelled," he complains, putting his head on my shoulder. I can only imagine there's now smeared knight on my hoodie. "People don't even notice us here. They're like zombies."

I smile. I wouldn't say zombies, but East High certainly is full of...different people. They're perpetually cheery, which comes with a multimillion dollar house and a closet the size of my house's living room. I'm sure they're not all loaded. Some of them might actually have fewer than three cars in their circle drives. But it was always kind of unsettling to see them in rally form.

Every crowd movement was a synchronized affair, often leaving people like me and Javi stunned. They'd all do the wave, or turn over their little Wildcat paw signs in harmony, and I'd just gape for lack of any other reaction. Their cheerleaders were noisier than ours, on account of winning all the time, and the East High players were like machines.

I squinted down the court. Chad Danforth, one of the star players, had just completed a lay-up without any West High defender coming close, and he was high fiving his teammates all the way down the court towards our end. These Wildcats were like God's chosen people while the rest of us just had to sit by and sulk. "We could boo them," Javier suggests, but I shake my head.

"That's against the Wildcat sportsmanship code," I remind him. "No booing, treat everyone with respect..."

"It's like communist China," Javier grumbles.

"You don't even know what that means," I tell him. By now, East High's star, Troy Bolton has sunk a three-pointer as the buzzer goes off for halftime. I frown and shake my head. "It's halftime. We can't do anything."

The crowd gets up to stretch while the players head for the locker room. Javier scratches his chin, deep in thought while I watch the Wildcats bounce enthusiastically off the court. Bolton and Danforth are still patting each other on the back for being the best thing to happen since the invention of the flush toilet. I want to throw stuff at their faces.

Don't get me wrong, I really don't have anything against East High. They're not smug jerks about winning or anything (that breaks their code too, I guess). But just seeing them win all the time, having to hear their names on the local news and reading about them in the paper...I don't know. It just gets your morale down.

I watch Bolton's back as he disappears from sight, and Javier catches me. "The love that dare not speak its name?" he teases me, and I elbow him in the side.

"I do not love Troy Bolton. He probably poops rainbows."

Javier chuckles. "When he sits on a toilet seat made of solid gold. Face it, Dee. We peons will be the one serving the Troy Boltons of the world their Big Macs and fries. We'll be the lowly office interns when the Troy Boltons are the company CEO."

I nod. "Probably." But Javier's a bit more jaded than me. His mom's law firm lost clients to some East High alum's firm all the time – for such a big city, Albuquerque was pretty small minded. But for reasons that have convinced my friend that I'm in love, I have a fascination with the Wildcats' star player. And it's not what you think.

I mean, sure, he's good looking. But there are good looking guys at West High, not that they pay attention to me because I'm "weird," but there's just something about this guy. Star basketball player, right? Shoo-in to all the big schools, pretty boy, good student, dating the smartest girl in his class. Who wouldn't want to be Troy Bolton? Or be WITH Troy Bolton? But it's not any of those things that has me, an outsider obviously, so intrigued.

It's the singing. It was the talk of the district last year. While I was studying for ACT's and SAT's and generally being a pain in the ass to my parents about getting a part-time job, this kid was starring in the East High spring musical. Here it was, senior year for him and for me, and all the buzz was on Troy. Basketball and drama? Would he try it again?

And though Javier's convinced I'm smitten, it's more genuine curiosity, I swear. I'm in the drama club at West, and although I'm sure I can't act my way out of a paper bag, I love the theater. I love plays and musicals, and I have an embarrassing amount of soundtracks on my iPod. So when someone so...unlike myself, someone who is Troy Bolton of all people gets interested in drama, it's a curious thing.

There's a finger snapping in my face, and I know I've done it again. Javier is shaking his head at me. "He has a girlfriend, Dee. And these East High guys aren't like those man whores on Gossip Girl. They're actually loyal."

"Stop causing drama," I reply through gritted teeth. "I'll prove that Troy Bolton's just another spoiled rich East High trust fund baby."

"Oh really?"

I look down at my shoes, wishing I hadn't said anything. Once a challenge is on the table, Javier Mendoza will stop at nothing to see it through to its conclusion. The buzzer goes off, and the East and West High teams come jogging back out onto the floor. "Well, I mean...I don't know how..."

"Let's bust into the locker room," Javier suggests, and I want to disappear. We'll be expelled for sure.

"No, absolutely not. I am not sneaking..."

"We can...steal something from his locker in there! We could steal his pants!" Javier suggests, and I'm wondering which of us is actually the most intrigued by the Wildcats' captain.

"I'm not stealing..." One of the students beside me is already looking at the pair of us suspiciously, and I tug Javier closer to me so I don't have to shout. "I'm not stealing Troy Bolton's pants."

"You said you'd prove he wasn't some snob. So a missing pair of pants should be no big deal. And if he goes crying to that genius girlfriend of his after the game, we'll know he's a big baby."

"But then he'd have no pants to wear home."

"Boohoo, I feel so bad for the Coach's kid. Yeah right."

I consider this plan. I haven't done anything that risky in my high school career, and it's already fall semester senior year. I can't really go off to college without some minor act of rebellion. I'd chickened out with the belly button piercing over the summer, so I had to do something, right?

"Fine."

Javier is more excited than the Wildcats' cheerleading squad, and he pulls me up out of my seat. We navigate our way out of the bleachers, past a dozen grumbling East High parents and students. If our West High hoodies aren't dead giveaways, our game interrupting is enough. We don't belong here. We make it out the gym doors and that's when the confusion sets in.

"Um...do you know how to get to the locker room from here?"

We're greeted with East High's squeaky clean halls, which seem to sprawl off into the distance like all the new subdivisions sprouting up in the suburbs around Albuquerque. Javi is already in stealth mode. This really means that he walks on his tiptoes and pretends he's playing Call of Duty or something, but he insists I refer to it as stealth mode.

Javi stealths his way past a bank of lockers, each adorned with an adorable "Go Wildcats!" paw print. The halls are devoid of litter, and there are flyers for bake sales and pep rallies that look like they were printed professionally. Again, can I stress that it's $6,600 per student, at least on the books? Right. So luckily enough for Javier and me, nobody else is in the hallway. Wildcat basketball is serious enough that nobody but two West High rejects would leave the gym at the start of the second half of play.

We bypass the pool and manage to find an alternate entrance for the boys' locker room through there. The silence is all too creepy – is everyone really in the gym? West High always has people milling about, occasionally smoking in the bathrooms before heading home. Javier's face is almost shell-shocked.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask him as we creep through the locker room, each little bank of lockers housed in a cage-like grouping. Which one is the basketball team's?

He's almost tearing up. "It doesn't smell in here. I mean, it smells...but it smells like feet."

"Can we just find..."

He hushes me with a finger to my lips. "Deirdre. It's just feet!The boys' locker room at West smells like someone took a dump, made it into paint and coated the walls with it. This is...this is immaculate."

I roll my eyes and push him away from me. "Hurry up, I don't want to get caught."

Javi continues making sounds of awe, and I have to admit – it doesn't smell awful in here. Perhaps East High's air circulation was just another place where it trumped our school. We sneak past the coach's office, and I wrinkle my nose at the incredible amount of trophies Coach Bolton has decorating the room.

Finally, we see a few athletic bags piled up on one of the little caged-off areas and some spare basketballs. Jackpot. Javier starts reading the little engraved nameplates on the lockers while I hang back and grip the cage.

"Are you going to help? He's YOUR boyfriend."

"He is not," I protest, joining him in the room to avoid more teasing. My eyes skim a few of the lockers. Baylor, Cross, Zara...

"Found it!" I turn around to see Javi rubbing his hands together like some criminal mastermind. The forbidden "Bolton" locker. I look in vain for a combination lock, but the extent of the goody two-shoes East High behavior stuns me. Javier is gleeful, though. "They don't even lock it!"

He pulls the locker door open, and a piece of paper falls to the floor. Javier picks it up and before he can unfold it, I snatch it away. "You are not reading this!"

"What? Oh come on, that has to be from that Gabriella!"

I roll my eyes at the sheer number of tiny hearts drawn on the paper in bright pink pen. Nope, not from Gabriella. I unfold one tiny corner, seeing a glittery "Love, Sharpay" written at the end. Sharpay Evans? Gross. Anyone who's anyone at the West High Drama Club knows about East's prima donna. "He has a lot of fans," I mumble, feeling suddenly embarrassed for Troy.

He holds his hand out impatiently. "So we send this little love note to his girlfriend, they cat fight, knock East High down a few pegs."

"Why are you looking to start a fight?" I shove past him, sticking the note in the back of Troy's locker behind a pair of Reeboks. "Let's just take the stupid pants and go."

But before that, we hear the locker room door leading out to the gym open. I know that because the quiet locker room is suddenly overwhelmed with cheers, only to be muted seconds later. East High sound proofing: better than you since 1960-whenever they built the damn campus.

Javier and I freeze, each of us with a hand on a leg of Troy Bolton's Levis.


	2. Close Encounters of the Wildcat Kind

**Confessions of a West High Drama Queen**

Chapter Two – Close Encounters of the Wildcat Kind

And of course, since the world is a cruel, cruel place, the locker room invader is...

"Troy Bolton," Javier stutters out.

We stand there like deer in the headlights as the East High Wildcats' starter pauses by the entryway to the basketball team's lockers. He's still in his jersey and shorts, beads of sweat on his impossibly pretty face. He must have just come off the court. Stop looking at his biceps, Dee!

"Um, you're not supposed to be in here," he says hesitantly, probably deciding whether or not he should tattle on us.

Javier and I drop the pant legs and step away. Troy's eyebrows raise as he sees that we've been digging through his stuff. I shove my hands in my pockets and look at Troy's shoes, considering whether I should start begging his forgiveness or if I should just run away screaming.

"So...as I said, locker room's off limits..." Troy begins again, not moving from his place. Well, he's blocking my escape, so I guess I'll have to do the begging thing.

"Well, you see..."

Javier is quicker though, and he steps forward, his face serious. "Troy Bolton. Hi, Jim Morrison, West High _Round Table_."

Troy and Javier shake hands, and I stand there dumbly. "What's the _Round Table_?" Troy inquires, clearly thrown off by Javi's surprising recovery.

"It's our student paper. Uh, my partner..." Javi looks at me with a look that expects me to play along.

"Janis Joplin," I mutter weakly.

"Janis and I were actually hoping to interview you for our sports section."

Troy is confused. I can't blame him. I'd really just like to leave the poor guy alone, but Javi always likes an excuse to show off what he learned in that community college improv class he took this past summer. He sits down on the bench as Javier gently eases the guy's locker door shut. I press myself back against Danforth's locker, begging for this ordeal to end quickly – and without intervention from the East High security team. Not like they had one. There were never fights here.

Javier looks to me. "Janis, why don't you start?"

I could kill him. I could kill my best friend with my bare hands and a shoe from Troy Bolton's locker, so help me God. Troy's eyes meet mine, and oh crap, I know I'm blushing now. He has a girlfriend, I keep repeating in my head. A girlfriend who could probably beat me into a fine paste. Well, if Gabriella Montez didn't, I could guarantee that Sharpay Evans would end me.

"Um...hi."

"Hi," Troy parrots back, still confused why two reporters from the _Round Table_ are creeping around in his locker room.

"Why aren't you on the court?" I blurt out, immediately regretting it.

But Troy smirks. "No offense, but we're kind of winning by a lot. My...uh, the Coach asked me to come get the Gatorade so that some of the other guys could play."

Ouch, Troy Bolton. Ouch.

"Oh," Javi interrupts, "Well, if you have to do that, Janis and I can interview you another time..."

We move to get away, but Troy's feet are blocking my escape route, and Javier pauses, spotting my trouble. I lick my lips, trying not to stare at the one little trickle of sweat moving down from under the edge of Troy's jersey and down his shoulder and...

"Don't you guys need a tape recorder or something for an interview anyway?"

"Yes!" I tell him, glaring at Javi briefly. "You're right, we left that in the car. Wow, can you believe that? Talk about a pair of morons, haha, no wonder you guys annihilate the Knights all the time..."

My mouth seems to be functioning at a quicker speed than my brain, and Javi gives me a "shut up, already" look. Troy stands, and he's taller than me, and oh, I feel short and when did it get so hot in this locker room?

Troy's smile is probably one cause of global warming. Someone better get on the phone to Al Gore. "Hey, it's no problem, really. I mean, I don't really get why your school paper is interviewing me, but I'll be back in here after the game if you really wanted to..."

Javier sees our opening and begins pulling me by the sleeve of my hoodie. "Great, thanks. You're the best, we'll look for you. Thanks again, thank you!"

My sneakers are squeaking on the floor as my mouth opens and closes like a fish instead of saying goodbye. Yeah, this is not one of my finer moments. I don't look back at Troy as Javier tugs me out the door we'd snuck in, and we just start running down the halls and back towards the parking lot where the Tercel is waiting to take us away from this horrible, horrible place.

We don't stop moving until we reach the car, and the pair of us collapse inside once Javi gets the doors unlocked. He's ready to smack his head against his steering wheel while I unzip my hoodie and fan my face with my hand.

"What the hell was that?" Javi screams at me.

I could strangle him. "Reporters for the _Round Table_? Seriously, Javi?"

He chuckles. "Dude, if anyone else had caught us. Luckily it was your golden boy."

I hold my face in my hands. "Oh God, I hate you so much." My first encounter with Troy Bolton, and I told him my name was Janis Joplin. And he found me fondling his jeans. I start smacking Javier, battering him as much as my weak little arms could do. "I am never listening to any of your stupid, half-assed plans again! Ever! Start the car!"

Javier is still grinning as he shoves me away and jams the key in the ignition. The Tercel roars to life, engine sputtering, begging to be taken out back and put down. He backs up, hoping that no one is behind us since there's no seeing around the Range Rovers. I stay as low in the seat as I can while the Tercel putters its way past the gym and off towards the main road away from the school.

I don't move to sit up fully until we're half a block from my house. Javier pulls over and starts laughing at me. "Oh, Dee. If you'd seen the look on your face when he first looked at you with those big pretty eyes..."

I grab my backpack from the back seat and try to keep myself from beating Javi with it. "If I'm not in school tomorrow, please send flowers to whichever funeral home my parents pick."

He shakes his head. "It wasn't that bad, come on." I open the door and slam it. He leans over to roll the window down, his bright smily face looking so much like it needed my fist in it. "You do love him. Just admit it."

A rude gesture is all I offer in response as I sling the backpack over my shoulder and trudge towards my house. The Toyota coughs like a dying old man and speeds away from the curb, leaving me about twenty feet of precious sidewalk before I have to deal with another human being. Believe me, I'm going to make those twenty feet count.

But Dad's got the TV on in the living room, and he hears me open the front door. "Game over already?"

"Yeah."

"Who won?"

"Who do you think?"

He laughs, turning back to Sportscenter as I stomp up the stairs, hoping to convince him that I'm upset about the game or something. Mom's depositing some clean clothes on my bed when I get up to my room, and she looks at me suspiciously.

"Game over already?"

I throw my backpack on the bed, upsetting the way she arranged my socks. "Please, spare me."

"If you cared half as much about your brother's team..."

I want to shake her. But I can't exactly tell her that humiliating myself in front of Troy Bolton is the actual cause of her daughter's present bitch mode. "I have homework."

She shakes her head at me, closing the door behind her. "Your dad's cooking tonight. The Little Caesar's number is on the fridge if you need it."

I grin at that as she leaves. Pulling my chemistry book from my bag, I crack it open and will the knowledge to embed itself in my mind. If only I could replace all the Troy Bolton with the periodic table, my life would be a lot less pathetic.

–

You know you're back at West High when you nearly yank your arm out of its socket to get your locker door open. I frown at the papers that come fluttering out, but I just shove them all back as I pull out my calc and history books. It had not been a good night.

I mean, really. I go to West High. Troy Bolton goes to East High. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so upset. I will finish out my senior year, go off to college and never think of him again. So long as I stay away from all the subsequent East vs. West basketball games, I should be good. That means Javi has to go check out Mr. Gabe the Center on his own time. I use the heel of my foot to shove the locker door shut, and I shuffle along behind all the other students taking their sweet time going through the hallways.

Thank God I have Drama Club after school. I'm not shy, but I'm not really that outgoing. Drama Club's just a good way to be a big dork with all the other socially inept members of the West High student body. It's an especially good time of the year to be in Drama Club. The state competition is coming up at the end of November, and this year there's a Shakespeare theme. I'll get the chance to stretch myself as an actor, try on an accent if Mrs. Randal lets me, and hopefully kick some ass at state.

Plus, this year it's in Santa Fe. We'll get to head out of town for a long weekend. A long weekend without Mom nagging me about the state of my college applications, without Dad's Saturday night card games, and a blissful three days without Luke's girlfriend Megan eating all my damn Oreos. Yes, if you can't tell – state competition is the promised land. They only have it every other year, and I had strep sophomore year and had to stay home. So yeah, this is a big deal to me, okay?

Anyhow, the rest of the school day went by at its usual glacial pace. Didn't bomb the calc test, got to go off about Daisy being unworthy of Gatsby's love in English, and it was nacho day in the cafeteria. Could have been far worse. Javi meets me at my locker, and he definitely knows what day it is.

"Hello, Mrs. Bolton," he teases, adding a few of his own books to my locker since his is on the opposite side of the building from where most of his classes are. I glare at him, but I decide that in honor of Drama Club day, I will be a better person than Javi deserves.

"So what play do you think it will be?"

Javi shrugs. "I don't care, really. So long as I get to wear tights."

I roll my eyes. "Gross. You just want people to be frightened of you."

He hugs me as we stumble along towards the auditorium. "As long as I have you, Dee. You and Gabe."

The other kids are all sitting at the front of the house, and Mrs. Randal is nowhere in sight. Javi and I find a seat behind everyone else, antisocial even with the antisocial weirdos that make up West High's Drama Club. I can hear whispers about what monologues people intend to audition with, and I know that I won't be doing any of those.

Whatever play we're doing, you audition with any Shakespearean monologue. As Javi and I listen in, I hear about half a dozen Ophelias from the goth girls, two Hamlets, a smattering of Romeos, Juliets, and a lone Henry V. Javier's already got something of Iago's memorized, and I couldn't think of a better part for him. Of course, I'm a snob (at least where Drama Club is concerned) and I've got my heart set on Portia's "quality of mercy" bit from _The Merchant of Venice_. I know I'll be the only one.

Finally, Mrs. Randal emerges, a bunch of papers in her hands as she stands at the edge of the stage looking down at us. "Sorry, I'm sorry everyone."

Something's wrong.

She fusses with the papers in her arms, her face twitching in the same way it twitches when someone misses a line during a dress rehearsal. "I just got off the phone with my colleague at East High. Due to budget cuts district-wide..."

Budget cuts? I think of the scoreboard at the game yesterday, the larger than life Wildcat banners in the halls...

"We'll all be doing one play and sending one district team to state..."

The grumblings and moans are noisy. One district team? Maybe 15-18 speaking roles split amongst the whole district? I mean, sure, there's always crew work, but this is my only chance...

Mrs. Randal clears her throat. "One play, and since Ms. Darbus at East has been kind enough to offer her facilities for rehearsals, the other district drama coaches and I have let her select the play..."

"Oh crap," Javier mutters, his _Othello_ dreams flying out the window.

"Auditions for _Romeo and Juliet _will be held this Friday in the East High Auditorium. 4:00 PM sharp so that students from around the district may attend and audition. That's all I have for you today. If you need help selecting a monologue for auditions, see me in my office." Mrs. Randal looks ready to cry, and no wonder. I'd seen the copies of _Titus Andronicus_ hidden under the Nora Roberts books on her desk for weeks now. She'd really wanted to be different.

But no. I cross my arms, and Javier does the same as the other students start complaining to each other once Mrs. Randal leaves to lock herself in her office and throw things. "Are you kidding me?" he asks. "Shakespeare had more plays than _Romeo and Juliet_!"

"It's not so bad," I say, not believing it. "Mercutio's not a far cry from Iago."

That seems to pacify him for the time being, but I'm not so lucky. Juliet? I don't want to be Juliet. Besides, I'm going to lose that part to Sharpay Evans, so it isn't even worth trying. A district team. It's already leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

"At this rate, I'm going to be the damn Apothecary or something," Javi snits. "Darbus will cast all her kids in the big parts and let us and North and South be set decorations. You'll be Capulet sword bearer number two, Dee."

No, she wouldn't. Would she? Darbus was probably already losing sleep over using existing source material. The batty woman had been letting her students write and perform original pieces for years, using the money that would have gone to pay for securing rights to actual plays to buy Sharpay Evans new costumes instead. It's going to be a disaster. I really AM going to be Capulet sword bearer number two.

But Javi's next words are what really get me nervous.

"Wait, you don't think...you don't think Troy Bolton's going to audition, do you?"


	3. So You Think You Can Audition

**Confessions of a West High Drama Queen**

Chapter Three – So You Think You Can Audition

It's Friday.

I sit in Mr. Rafferty's always enthralling economics class, hearing about supply and demand, seeing the charts as he switches overheads every few minutes. But of course, I'm not paying attention. I mean, would you be able to? Maybe you're not as much of a dope as I am, but today is audition day, and I'm probably going to collapse in a puddle of shame goo.

Sorry for the visual.

I've drawn Rafferty's current graph in my notebook, but instead of plotting the decreasing supply of petroleum versus the demand in the OPEC-reliant nations, I've scribbled "Possibility That Troy Auditions" on my x-axis and "Expectation That Dee Will Fail and Bring Shame to Herself and Quite Possibly Her Family" on the y. It's not looking good.

I mean, sure, there's the very real possibility that I will fail because I'm not the world's greatest thespian. It hasn't stopped Keanu Reeves all these years, but he never had to compete against Sharpay Evans knowing that Troy Bolton was sitting in the audience watching.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, I don't know. This isn't brain surgery or anything serious - it's a school play, but really, it's my last chance to go to state for drama. One last chance to have that as a selling point on all my college applications. I'm not going to major in drama, that much is clear, but my guidance counselor Ms. Daniels stresses "Extracurriculars, extracurriculars, extracurriculars." And aside from that embarrassing season I spent warming the bench for the West High lacrosse team, I don't have extracurriculars outside of Drama Club.

The clock's seemingly stuck at 2:26, and I'm tapping my foot and tapping my Bic pen and trying to be Portia in my head. But all I can see is Troy Bolton in his basketball uniform (naturally). And he's shaking his head, disappointed that a girl from the West High Drama Club can't even speak when he plays two sports and merely "dabbles" in the theatre scene.

Class creeps by, and Rafferty goes over last night's homework, and oh my God if he talks through the bell I will seriously scream.

"Just a reminder," he drones on, "Whoever gets the best score on next week's test will receive a free subscription to the _Wall Street Journal_, courtesy of yours truly."

His little incentive falls mostly on deaf ears, and as the minute hand slowly crawls closer to 3:00, I have to stare at the strange little mole on the back of Jeff Panker's neck in front of me to keep from exploding.

Mercifully, the bell rings and Rafferty gives up as kids are already streaming out the door because it's Friday, after all. I shove my notebook in my backpack and move out into the hall, mumbling Portia's monologue to myself as I hurry to my locker.

Javi's already waiting, and since he apparently lives in a special universe where he has no homework on the weekends, he doesn't have any books. "The play's the thing!"

I fumble with the combo lock. "You cannot possibly be real."

"Oh, I'm real," he replies with a grin, then slams himself back against the other lockers. His voice is loud and other students are already watching. "And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give...and honest!"

"Enough!" I slam the locker shut. I've heard Javier's Iago monologue more times than I can remember in the past few days, so much so that I think I know it better than my own. I can only hope that I don't start muttering about the Moor and Desdemona while I'm auditioning.

He jingles the Tercel's keys. "To Mantua?"

"To East High," I answer, starting the march to the parking lot.

He's at my heels, giddier than a girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. "Nervous, Dee?"

I nod, and we get into his car. He knows that auditions make me a god awful mess, so he stays quiet for the drive over towards East. He just hums along with the radio while I stare at the dashboard, going over my monologue mentally.

Has it only been a few days since I was last here? We avoid going in through the gym entrance, choosing instead the bright doors by the mammoth cafeteria. Javi and I keep close, as though we're in a horror movie and desperate to escape without the monster finding us. The auditorium isn't far, and I can already see a few students wandering in.

We follow, and a shy-looking girl with glasses meets us at the door. "Hi, there's a sign up sheet at the front. Name, school, and parts auditioning for."

"Thanks," I mumble and Javi drags me down to the front of the house where there's quite a substantial line. Luckily, auditions don't start for another twenty minutes. Javi and I both put down "anything" under what to audition for and find a seat off to the far right near some familiar faces from West.

No sign of Troy so far, but I can see Sharpay and her brother Ryan sitting towards the front, just inches from the little lectern that Ms. Darbus has set up for auditions. I suddenly feel underdressed, but that's only because Sharpay is wearing a sequined ball gown and probably skipped her afternoon classes to get a perm. Her blonde hair is bouncy and wavy and no doubt full of extensions to grant her tragic heroine status.

For his part, the Evans I'm not as familiar with has an outfit straight from _Shakespeare in Love_, and it appears that his stockings and plumed hat were tailored to match his sister's. Javier and I can only watch from our vantage point as Sharpay seems to be harassing her brother.

"I thought I told you no zippers, Ryan," the blonde hisses, gesturing to a barely visible one at the back of her brother's tunic. "That's totally anthropomorphic!"

"Um...what?" he replies. "Don't you mean anachronistic?"

Javi and I stifle our laughs as Sharpay continues to lecture Ryan. I imagine that the glitter paint on her face is just as timely and Shakespearean as Ryan's zipper. Other students file in, and Sharpay dials it down a bit. There's a rush in the last five minutes, and there's so many people at the front that I can't tell if Troy Bolton is among them.

I shut my eyes. So what if he's here, I tell myself. This isn't about Troy Bolton – this is about state and about Shakespeare, nothing else. Finally, Ms. Darbus appears on stage, the shy girl from earlier nearly hiding behind her. The woman's got some diaphanous scarf around her neck and a hideous brooch of Shakespeare's face pinned to her lapel. She looks down at all of us over the top of her big glasses.

"Good afternoon my lords and ladies, my devotees of the Bard..."

Javi and I sink lower in our seats as Darbus takes ten minutes to convey one minute of information. How complex can auditioning be? Finally, she moves to the stairs. "Oh, and this is Kelsi Nielsen. She'll be the musical director. Let's proceed."

Darbus heads down the steps as Javier and I exchange a glance. Music? What music?

She gets settled in, and Sharpay straightens up in her seat. Meanwhile, any time I could be spending squinting in the relative dark to find Troy Bolton is being squandered – I'm too busy concerning myself with the horror that might be _Romeo and Juliet_ – The Musical. Please, I beg the gods of theatre, do not let Shakespeare's language get trampled by Sharpay Evans with some cutesy dance number.

The first few auditions go well enough I think. A girl from West High does a killer Juliet, and then students I don't know who seem to be from North or South go on.

"Javier Mendoza, West High," Darbus calls. I squeeze my friend's arm, and he nearly bounces along up the steps in his enthusiasm. Darbus is notorious for cutting people off mid-audition – I hope that my friend gets a fair shot.

I nibble on my thumbnail, watching Darbus make notes on a clipboard as Javi's Iago speaks, and I'm pleased to see her nodding along. She lets him perform the entire monologue, and a few people even applaud when he's done, and Javi laps it up. The boy loves attention. It's the main reason he's in Drama Club.

"Hold your applause, please. Thank you, Mr. Mendoza," Darbus chides us all, and Javier hops down the steps and hurries back to me.

"How was it?" he gushes at me, knowing full well that he did a great job. "I have to at least get Tybalt for that performance."

"Wow, you're so humble," I whisper to him, knowing that the game's been raised. I'm really going to have to knock Darbus' socks off. And now I'm trying to imagine the downright weird socks that someone as eccentric as Ms. Darbus would wear.

The auditions continue, and I'm getting really nervous. I was right after Javier on the sign-up sheet – how the heck is she picking people? "Sharpay Evans!"

Oh, here we go. All eyes seem to be on East's blonde bombshell as she sashays up the steps and onto the stage. For some reason, her brother is following her.

"I called Sharpay Evans, not Ryan!"

Sharpay shakes her head, the bouncy curls twisting around her head. "Ms. Darbus, Ryan is merely my accompaniment."

"That's not fair," I hear some kids behind us complaining.

Ms. Darbus gives her star kids the go ahead, and I frown. Kelsi is scribbling furiously in her notebook at Darbus' side. Please, no musical, I beg. Please, no musical.

Ryan disappears off-stage briefly and returns with a microphone. Sharpay's positioned herself at the very end of the stage, ready to go. "Ms. Darbus, I will be performing the balcony scene."

The lights dim, a spotlight on Sharpay. Nobody else has received this special treatment, and I can tell that all the other auditioning kids are fuming as much as Javi and I are. Ryan tips his feathered cap to the side and places his hand over the mic. He nods, and suddenly the auditorium is filled with his voice coming through the microphone. Wait, did I say voice? I may have misspoken.

"Boom, ch. Boom, ch. Boom,ch," Ryan starts out, beginning a beatbox routine while his sister soaks up the spotlight. "B-b-but soft...what light, through yonder window breaks?"

Sharpay clasps her hands together. "Oh Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

Ryan breaks it down again. "B-b-but soft what light, through yonder window breaks?"

We all stare in complete amazement as Ryan boom-chs throughout the entire monologue. I'm sure Will Shakespeare is turning in his grave as Juliet's mournful monologue is turned into a shouting fest. I suppose Sharpay Evans thinks Shakespearean dialogue is best delivered in a shrill, phony British accent. She gets close to the end, Ryan having beatboxed through the whole thing.

Ryan crouches down, hand to his forehead in faux awe of his sibling. "She speaks, oh speak...sp-sp-speak again, bright angel ohhhh yeah."

"And for thy name, which is no part of me..." Sharpay shouts, tearing at the gown to reveal a sequined pink leotard beneath it. She does a cartwheel, nearly kicking Ryan in the face and then tosses a triumphant fist in the air. "Take all myself!"

The spotlight goes dark, and slowly, the house lights flicker back on while Sharpay basks in everyone's shocked faces. She obviously thinks we loved it. I'm more confused and frightened than anything. However, Darbus seems to have adored it.

"Very creative, Miss Evans. Very creative." There's some smattering of applause and even a boo or two from the crowd when Sharpay picks her dress back up and tosses it on. "Ryan, you can go next since you're already up there."

Sharpay hops down the steps with a gleeful expression. I can't say I've ever seen anyone audition in quite the same way before, and I doubt I will again. I miss half of Ryan Evans' audition because I'm still so shell shocked from the spectacle I just witnessed. But Javi is paying rapt attention.

"Dee," he whispers, nudging me with his elbow. "Dee, he's amazing."

I shake my head. "What happened to Gabe the center?"

"Who?" Javi mumbles, eyes locked on to Ryan Evans, his feathered hat clutched to his chest as he delivers Hamlet's 'To be or not to be...' monologue. I'm surprised he doesn't have a skull prop or something else ridiculous, but he seems to be a more natural actor than his sibling.

The audience is quiet when he finishes, and he bows humbly, his cheeks pink. Ryan goes back to where his sister is sitting, but she's texting someone on her phone and doesn't bother to congratulate him on a job well done.

The auditions continue, most of them kids I don't know from the other schools. Finally, Darbus calls Gabriella Montez, and my head snaps up. I turn to look and see where she's coming from in the auditorium, but she's already halfway to the stage. Damn it.

She smiles shyly, keeping her eyes focused somewhere in the back of the auditorium. It's too dark, but I know it has to be Troy. My heart starts racing like it had that day in the locker room. Great. I'm totally screwed now.

"Gabriella Montez, and um...this bit is from _The Merchant of Venice_..."

Wait. No. No, she can't do this.

"The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven..."

I sink down in the seat. My monologue. The one nobody else could possibly have picked. And Gabriella Montez is nervously reciting it, her face growing redder and redder. But her voice is still clear and strong, projecting out pretty far considering how tiny she is.

"Should I do something different?" I whisper nervously to Javier, tugging on his sleeve desperately. "What else do I know? Should I do Iago?"

"I already did that, dumb ass. Come on, you're better than she is..."

"But..."

"Dee."

"Troy...I mean, Ms. Darbus will cut me off."

By now, Gabriella's finished and has disappeared back to wherever she and Troy were hiding in the darkened auditorium. He's probably congratulating her. He's probably praising her for choosing an audition piece that was unique and challenging and different. And now...

"Deirdre Andrews, West High," Darbus announces, and I kind of want to run away. Really really far away.

Javi kicks me, and I stumble out of my seat. Great. Not only did Gabriella take MY monologue – but I have to audition immediately after her. I keep my hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans as I clamber up the stairs, my footsteps heavier than Gabriella's. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, and I look out at the auditorium.

Several students are gathered in clusters, and in the back to the left...Gabriella Montez and Troy Bolton, watching me attentively. Troy leans over to whisper something to Gabriella, and oh no, he has to be telling her about the locker room thing now...

"Miss Andrews?"

I return my eyes to Ms. Darbus, who looks ready to boot me from her stage. "Right. Um, sorry to be redundant. But I'm Dee Andrews, and I'm also auditioning with the piece from _The Merchant of Venice_."

I don't dare look at Troy or Gabriella, and Darbus merely looks down at her sheet. However, Kelsi gives me a smile and nods encouragingly. At least someone cares about my audition.

I keep my eyes on her friendly face throughout the monologue. I hope the poor girl doesn't think I'm hitting on her, but she merely listens. The words come easier than I thought, but I suppose having repeated them a few dozen times since my alarm clock went off this morning helps.

"Though justice be thy plea, consider this." I cross the stage, having given myself some simple blocking. If I just stand around when I audition, I'm liable to let the director see my shaking hands. Moving helps like you wouldn't believe. "That in the course of justice none of us should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy."

Kelsi looks really happy, and she's writing things down while I finally look at Darbus, who is also writing. I feel the blush in my cheeks, and I know if I look at Troy or Gabriella that I'll tumble down the steps. Instead, I concentrate on walking and make it down to collapse at Javi's side again.

"Surprisingly good," he murmurs.

"Surprisingly?"

He smiles. "All things considered, I'm sure that you'll at least get a line or two."

I nod, focusing on breathing like a normal person again. I'd take a line or two, especially after seeing how excited Darbus was about Sharpay's...interpretation of the balcony scene. The rest of auditions crawl by, and I'm glad to be done.

Ms. Darbus rises from her seat, rubbing her eyes. Writing in near dark will do that to you. "We have one final audition today. If you've been neglected, speak now."

Everyone's quiet. I just want to go home - it's already after 6, and my stomach's growling for dinner. Even Dad's meatloaf sounds good right about now.

"No one else? Wonderful. Then last but not least, Troy Bolton!"


	4. Whose Cast is it Anyway?

**Confessions of a West High Drama Queen**

Chapter Four – Whose Cast is it Anyway?

I hear a very befuddled "What?!" come from the area where I think Troy and Gabriella are sitting, and then finally Troy is wandering down the aisle to the stage with a confused look on his face. He's got on a tight t-shirt. Why? Why must God punish me like this? Javi almost has to push my jaw up to close my open mouth.

He looks at Ms. Darbus in fear once he's on stage. His voice almost cracks. "Ms. Darbus, I didn't put my name on the sheet. I'm not here to audition..."

I seem to be the only one noticing the wicked little smirk on Sharpay's face as Troy stands there looking embarrassed.

"So you're unprepared, Mr. Bolton?" Darbus goes on.

"Well, yeah...because I'm not..." Troy's gaze shifts to the rear of the auditorium. Obviously, a mental war with Gabriella is being waged because Troy is mouthing and gesturing furiously. He turns back to Ms. Darbus in full-on pout mode. Gabriella (and by default, Sharpay) has won. "Uh, I mean, I guess I could audition. But I don't have anything prepared..."

"Not to worry!" I hear, then I see a blonde whirlwind hurrying up the auditorium steps. "You can read this one, Troy!" Sharpay shoves a book into Troy's hand, her fingers lingering a little too long on his wrists.

There's more grumbling in the auditorium. Sharpay's audition was heinous enough - now Troy gets to read out of a book? Will Ms. Darbus stop this?

Troy's squinting at the book, Sharpay still attached to him like a parasite. "Um...Sharpay, this isn't Shakespeare. It's _The Catcher in the Rye_..."

"So?" she fires back. "Don't be ungrateful!"

The auditorium positively erupts. Will Troy Bolton be auditioning with a passage of Holden Caulfield angst? It appears not. Kelsi is whispering to Ms. Darbus, who nods approvingly. We then watch the girl hurry up the stairs, sidestepping Sharpay to shove a piece of paper in Troy's other hand.

Sharpay, whose plan had been going so well until now, snatches her book back and stomps back down the stairs, Kelsi close behind. Troy makes faces in Gabriella's direction again, then reads over the paper with a heavy sigh.

"Mr. Bolton, some of us have plans this evening. If you don't mind?" Darbus interrupts. She's really letting this happen. Javi looks ready to commit murder, but things just work differently at East High. Especially when the most famous Bolton since Michael is in attendance.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen. Lend me your ears!" Troy shouts, his voice clear and strong. I try not to melt. I've been embarrassing enough today. "I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him."

The auditorium sits at rapt attention as Troy reads Marc Antony's speech, and I have to admit that I'm looking at his biceps under that damn t-shirt. But I'm sure his audition is going fine. He isn't even reading off the page when he finishes, a glimmer of what can only be excitement in his eyes. The boy's a natural. He belongs on that stage.

Everyone claps when he's done. I mean, really, that was kind of awesome. I still would have liked to see 'Troy Bolton Reads the Works of J.D. Salinger,' but this was good enough. He hurries back to Gabriella, and the house lights come up. I can't help but watch as she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. He still seems rather embarrassed.

"Mission control to Dee, your hormones are veering wildly off the charts," Javier teases me, breaking me out of my stare.

"Shut up," I tell him. "Come on, we have to go. I said I'd be home by 6:30."

And this is when my best friend decides to morph into Mega Creep. "Awww, but Dee..." The same guy making fun of me for eyeing Troy is now staring across the auditorium at Ryan Evans in all his Shakespearean finery.

"What?"

He gives me his 'pretty please' face. "I want to go congratulate him for his awesome Hamlet."

"Congratulate, huh."

"I'll meet you at the car in twenty, okay?" And before I can protest, Javi's off. I watch him ease his way into Ryan and Kelsi's conversation and I roll my eyes. Dee Andrews died today - she was abandoned at East High like an unwanted pet on the side of the road.

Javier is already poking at Ryan's plumed hat, so I stalk off. I find myself behind a departing Troy and Gabriella. They're luckily wrapped up enough in each other that they don't notice me behind them.

"You really think Sharpay would sign me up?" Troy is asking his girlfriend.

She nods. "I didn't put your name down, you know. Who else would have done it?"

"Ms. Darbus? Kelsi?"

"Unlikely, they were just as surprised," Gabriella points out, shifting her backpack on her shoulders. "Come on, my mom's waiting."

They walk faster, and I stay behind, letting them head out the back of the auditorium first. I turn around one last time to see that Ryan is laughing at whatever Javier has just said. Some best friend. Drops you at the first sign of some new hot guy. Typical.

I shove the auditorium door open and smack right into someone. Ow.

"Whoa, sorry," the someone says. The someone is male, and I look up to see some friendly eyes. "You okay?"

I take a step back, letting the door close behind me. Troy and Gabriella are already on their way outside, and it's just me and this guy here in the hallway. He looks kind of familiar, but I can't place him.

I laugh it off, trying not to feel bad for almost knocking this guy out with the force of my auditorium-fleeing body. "Sorry, I was...never mind."

He has nice hair, but he's not Troy Bolton. He's not ugly either! I mean, he's not hot hot, he's just...not bad looking. I don't know. Rounder face, rounder body. But nice hair. "Uh, is it too late to sign up for the tech crew?" he asks me hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," I say, feeling kind of trapped. I mean, I ran into this guy and want to get away before I look like an idiot. "I don't know, I go to West."

"Oh," he answers. Why is he still standing here? I know him. I know I've seen him before. How do I know him? Oh God, why is he holding his hand out? "I'm Jason."

I limply offer my hand. Shaking hands, really? "Dee." That's when I see the track jacket with the paw print. "Oh, are you on the basketball team?" That's it!

He smiles. "Yep!" Jason Cross. I'd seen his locker that day when I first met Troy. I didn't really remember him playing - but then again, I'd been staring at you-know-who for most of the game...

The conversation stops again. It's so awkward. I never know what to say to boys that aren't Javi. "That's cool. Well, I know Ms. Darbus is still in there if you want to sign up."

"Great, thanks."

"Jason?"

"Yeah."

"Um, can I have my hand back?" He's been shaking it since I offered it. It's moved from polite to uncomfortable.

"Whoa, sorry!" He lets go, and I flatten my arm to my side. I probably look like a very weird robot.

"So..."

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm uh...well, I have to get home. I live on the other side of town after all," I tell him, not knowing how to really keep things going.

"Sure," he says. "Right. Well, if you make the play, maybe I'll see you around?"

"That would be cool, yeah." Run, Dee. Get away before you ask if he's a bench warmer. "See you."

He heads into the auditorium, and I take a deep breath. Okay. Not the basketball player I would have preferred to bump into. But whatever. I just want to go home. I walk out to the parking lot, and it's kind of chilly, so I zip my hoodie and huddle in a little ball on the hood of Javi's car. It's a full thirty minutes before he comes jogging out, triumph written all over his face.

"Guess who's picking up scholarship applications on Sunday with Ryan Evans?"

I scowl.

Javi flashes me a bit of notebook paper. "Got a phone number!"

"Scholarship applications?"

"Oh yeah, Ryan knows this one community theater troupe that offers a $500 scholarship. You just fill out the paperwork."

I don't want to ruin Javier's fun, but I've been sitting on the hood of a car for the past several minutes. I'm done being encouraging. "I don't think Ryan Evans realizes what you're up to."

"What do you mean?"

I narrow my eyes. "He probably thinks you're picking up scholarship applications."

"Well, yeah."

"He probably thinks that's all you're doing."

Javier frowns at the phone number in his hand. "Killjoy."

"Realist," I tell him, sliding off the hood. "Come on, Mr. Scholarship. You're coming in to apologize personally to my father for making me late."

He shoves Ryan's number in his pocket. "Fine."

--

The weekend seemed to take forever. But the cast list will be posted in our own auditorium today after school. I guess Darbus is emailing it to all the other drama teachers in the district during last period.

I'm so nervous that any fingernails I may have had are now casualties of a losing battle against my teeth. Javi refused to tell me about his little pseudo-date with Ryan in the car this morning. He's always grumpy before his morning coffee, so he was saving it for after school.

The bell rings, and I skip a visit to my locker in order to hit the auditorium first. There's already a small crowd gathered around the bulletin board backstage when I arrive, and a few of the Goth girls seem to be praying to whatever they worship that they'll get parts. Javi's parked himself outside Mrs. Randal's office, hoping to intercept her on the way to the bulletin board.

"So, get your scholarship stuff?"

He beams. "Sure did. Dude, Ryan picked me up in his mom's car - a Beamer!"

"That's nice," I reply, trying to see what's keeping Mrs. Randal. The blinds in her backstage office window are shut tight.

"We picked the applications up, and then we had coffee. He likes this mint latte thing, so I was thinking that if we both get cast, I can bring him a mint latte for rehearsal. You know, so he'd go, 'Oh hey, that's Javier. He brings me coffee' and we could go from there."

I really should be a supportive best friend. I really should. But I hear the printer come to life inside the office, and Javier's chatter goes in one ear and out the other. Not like I want to join in the boxers or briefs argument Javi is currently having with himself.

The door opens, and the backstage erupts with whispers. Randal keeps the sheet close to her chest as she passes me and Javi, yelling at kids to move so she can tack it up. We rush over and have to squint at the old timey font that Ms. Darbus has used to email stuff over. Look, it's easier this way:

New Mexico State High School Drama Competition 2007

The Albuquerque School District Presents

**William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet**

Directed by Gwen A. Darbus, B.F.A., M.F.A.

**Escalus**, Prince of Verona // Anthony Ciragowski (South)

**Paris**, a young Count, kinsman to the Prince // Tom Manzullo (West)

**Montague**, heads of two houses at variance with each other // Marcus Jones (South)

**Capulet**, heads of two houses at variance with each other // Javier Mendoza (West)

An **old Man**, of the Capulet family // Francisco Perez (North)

**Romeo**, son to Montague // Troy Bolton (East)

**Tybalt**, nephew to Lady Capulet // Jimmie Zara (East)

**Mercutio**, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo // Ryan Evans (East)

**Benvolio**, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo // Deirdre Andrews (West)

**Friar Laurence**, Franciscan // Shawn Tarver (West)

**Friar John**, Franciscan // Devon Lorence (South)

**Balthasar**, servant to Romeo // Sam Blaisdell (North)

**Abram**, servant to Montague // Eric Sanchez (West)

**Sampson**, servant to Capulet // Will Mays (East)

**Gregory**, servant to Capulet // Vince DeSario (South)

**Peter**, servant to Juliet's nurse // Tim Harper (East)

An **Apothecary** // Christine Lara (North)

Three **Musicians** // Kelsi Nielsen (East), Andrew Shankar (South), Chris Snow (North)

An **Officer** // Bobby Pitterman (West)

**Lady Montague**, wife to Montague // Martha Cox (East)

**Lady Capulet**, wife to Capulet // Sharpay Evans (East)

**Juliet**, daughter to Capulet // Gabriella Montez (East)

**Nurse** to Juliet // Alene Ryerson (North)

**Chorus **(to fill in as required)

East High School: Lindsay Cartwright, Shannon Draper, Taylor McKessie, Rachel Martinez

West High School: Sarah Stapczyk, Leigh Ann Fraser, Lucy Cho, Ashley Adelante

South High School: Steve Marchak, Cynthia Stephanides, Olivia Dean, Stacey Nishikawa

North High School: Monica Dinakiewicz, Mike Fitz, Alexis de Leon, Lyudmila Todorova

I look for my name desperately, checking the Chorus first, then when that yields nothing, the female roles. Finally, Javi grabs my hand, tugging on my index finger to meet my name where it rests just below that of Ryan Evans. "Wait," I murmur. "Benvolio?"

"Benvolio!" Javi declares happily. "Dee, you're the only gender bender in the cast!"

I scan the cast list again. And it's true. I'm the only person that's playing someone of the opposite gender. And instead of patting myself on the back for getting a role with lines, I can feel my nose getting itchy and my eyes watering. I stumble back away from the cast list, letting the others get a chance to scramble for their names.

Javi's got his arm around me. "Dee! Dee, would you stop...oh god, don't cry. I don't know what to do when girls cry, stop!"

I collapse on one of the old ragged couches that's set up backstage. "A guy, Javi? Ms. Darbus wants me to play a guy's part?"

"Well, isn't that uh...progressive of her?" he tries desperately, knowing how uncomfortable I can be when I cry. I'm one of those uncontrollably loud criers. I can't help it. My mom's the same way – it's like a foghorn when we blow our noses.

Eventually, the other students wander off and the reality that I did get a speaking part finally sinks in. It's a bigger part than I'd expected, so I must have done something right. Even if Darbus thought I was flat-chested or hairy enough to play a boy. Really, I am average in both chest size AND amount of hair per square inch, thanks. I sniff a few times while Javi rubs my back soothingly.

"And I think all of your scenes are with Troy, right? Benvolio's his cousin or something."

"Wait, what?" I shout. I guess I hadn't read the cast list as closely as I thought I had. I bolt from the couch and back to the cast list. Yep, Troy Bolton for Romeo. And Dee Andrews playing his "kinsman" Benvolio. Oh god, all of my scenes ARE going to be with Troy.

Um, so the noise I make after that realization isn't necessarily something I'm proud of. If you can just imagine something between the noise a woman makes in one of those awful Cinemax movies your brother watches at 3 in the morning and the noise an elephant makes, then I think you've hit the mark. Not my greatest moment, I assure you, but everyone was cleared out, and only Javi had to witness my embarrassment.

"When do we start?" I ask nervously, knowing that Dee-as-a-boy gets to debut at West High sooner or later.

Javi checks again. "First read through is...tomorrow afternoon. So, man up?"

I shove him. "I can't believe I have to be a boy."

He shrugs, scowling at the cast list again. "At least you don't have to play Sharpay's husband."


End file.
